Lost Without You
by Alaylith
Summary: Lost in Madness, there is only one way to survive.


_Author's Note:  
This was my entry for the Watson's Woes Challenge002 with the prompt "Loss" and you had to use the sentence "I am lost without my Boswell"._

_I never wrote something like this before and never in this style, too. So I am kind of "lost" with this story. I do like it, but still I do not really know what I should think of it..._

_Hope you like it. :)_

_Warning: AU-AfterReichenbach_

* * *

It was a cold day.

John Watson sat in his chair, looked through his window and did not see the world.

Beyond the window Watson did not see the street, the cabs or the humans going by. He saw the mist of a great waterfall and a dark, deep abyss.

He did not hear the ticking of the clock standing on his mantelpiece. He heard the roaring of water and his own voice echoing unanswered.

His eyes, once full of life and shining with spirit were dull and blank.

He was a lost man, lost in life where time ran past and the world continued to orbit around the sun. Or did the earth not orbit around the sun? There was a memory, but even his own memories were lost to him with the exception of the one about the waterfall.

Three months. A mere three months. Nothing compared to the time he had already borrowed from life. Nothing compared to the time he still possessed.

A life full of loneliness and darkness and sadness.

How could it be that the sun was still rising, that the moon was still setting and the earth still turning when he was caught and could not move?

When he was bound to the memory of a waterfall on another continent?

When he was still waiting for an answer which he would never hear?

He was so tired…

-----

The door opened and the maid looked into the room.

"A man to see you, sir."

Watson turned from the window and looked to her. "The practice is already closed."

"I know, sir, but the man said it is important. He needs to see you."

A sigh and Watson picked up his pen. "Show him in."

He heard her stepping away and a moment later louder steps returned to his office.

A slight draught touched his face as the door was closed and he felt someone coming to his desk.

"How can I help you?" Watson asked without looking up.

Rustling of clothes answered him and he felt the eyes of his visitor upon him.

"How can I-" He repeated and looked up just to be frozen still.

Impossible…

He was going mad. That's the only explanation. It only took three months for him to lose his mind.

It just was not possible.

"It is, my friend."

As so often Sherlock Holmes could read his thoughts, but madness could do this as well.

"You are not mad. At least, not more so than I."

"You are dead." Watson said without emotion. He lost his emotions, too, when he returned to the waterfall and got no answer three months ago. Three months? It felt like years.

"I am not," his madness answered and Watson laughed hoarsely.

"Then I am."

Sherlock Holmes or just madness shook his head.

"You are not. I am not. We are both alive."

"Is this a dream?" Watson asked.

In reality Sherlock Holmes was dead. If he could see him without being dead himself it could only mean that this was not reality.

"No, it is not. And no, I am still not dead, so it does not need to be a dream. It is reality."

"How could it be? You died three months ago."

Sherlock Holmes sighed. Watson took the time to observe his madness for the first time.

His madness looked exactly like his real friend, but that is of no wonder. After living for so many years with the man he just needed to close his eyes to have an exact image of him. He never needed a photograph, even so he wished for one in the last three months.

But his madness was different somehow.

He looked even gaunter than before and he was paler. It seemed that he got no rest in awhile and had not eaten well. And his eyes… They were grey just like ever, but they were dark and blank. They were like the eyes he saw in the mirror everyday.

"How can I convince you that I am not madness but reality?" Sherlock Holmes asked.

"If you were reality you would not even be asking this," Watson answered.

"Sherlock Holmes never believed in the softer emotions, so why would he care about me falling into madness after his death?"

"Because I am running from madness myself."

Sherlock Holmes turned and went to the window. He looked into the darkness and his pale face was mirrored in the glass.

"I fought Moriarty on the top of Reichenbach. I really thought I would die that day, so I wrote my note for you. I did not die, Moriarty fell and I survived. But there are still men alive who wish me harm and they have the resources and no scruples to take any way possible to achieve their goal.

I am in no position to go against them. So I left the impression of my death to return at a later date and be prepared. It was a grand plan, a master plan. With only one fault."

Watson listened, still looking like a dead man himself with eyes almost unseeing. In the last three months he developed different fantasies about the past and the future, that his friend somehow survived or that he would follow his friend in some way.

But he never thought about something like this. His fantasies about the survival were like wonders, miracles.

Madness was talking about logic, it had a logic explanation for the survival.

He was not logic. He was emotion.

Sherlock Holmes was logic.

So could it be…?

"Holmes…?"

A whisper, faint and desperate, but Holmes heard and turned to his friend.

For the first time Watson heard the ticking of the clock and saw the world beyond the window, framing the figure of his friend.

"You truly are alive…?"

Still desperate, not willing to believe the impossible, but so hoping for it!

And then finally - the confirmation, the realisation.

Holmes smiled.

"Watson."

So many emotions. He thought they were lost forever, but now they were all coming back to him. Not a word in the world could describe this feeling. There was no word for this.

Shakily Watson got to his feet and stumbled to the window. He hesitantly raised his hand and slowly touched Holmes' arm.

"It is truly you… You are alive!"

Raising his eyes and looking into the eyes of his dearest friend he saw a spark of life and knew that Holmes could see the same spark in his.

"I am glad that you finally realised this. It is weird being the madness of another if you have your own." Holmes raised his own hands and put them on Watson's arms.

"You look horrible, my dear Watson."

"And what about you? What happened to you after Reichenbach?" Watson asked in wonder and his hand wandered over the length of his friend's arm.

"As I said, my plan had a fault."

"A fault? What fault?" Watson looked into the eyes of his friend and saw anew death creeping into them.

"You."

Frozen Watson was not able to answer and Holmes lowered his eyes.

"After Reichenbach I ran away, hiding. I only had my brother as confidant, because I needed the money to survive. I ran as far as possible to get away from the men I still feared. But there was one thing I could not run away.

You. No matter how dark it was, I could still see your eyes. No matter how loud it was, I could still hear your voice. You were always there. In my dreams and in my nightmares, in every mirror I saw your face instead of mine.

That was the fault. I never thought about how lonely I would get after losing you. I would have never believed how I would die slowly from the inside when you were not near me. I was not only hunted by Moriarty's men, I was hunted by madness as well.

As I once said to you – _I am lost without my Boswell."_

He raised his eyes, tears collecting in their depths and looked to his friend and Watson could see into his soul and heart.

"_I am lost without you."_

Watson never felt his own tears running down his face as he saw the tears on Holmes' face. Never felt his own shaking when he could feel Holmes shaking under his hand.

Never felt his own life fading as he saw death in his friend's eyes.

"I cannot stay." Holmes said, shuddered and drew his arm over his eyes.

"I cannot stay in London, I cannot even stay in England! It is too dangerous. I should have never returned, but I just could not go on! I was going mad! I needed you! I needed you so badly or I would have really died. But I cannot stay here with you, I need to run. To hide, to prepare, to not return until I am ready.

How could I ever be ready if I am not even there? I am not complete. My brain and my logic are there, but my heart and my soul are lost. How do you survive without your heart?

I always said my body is just an appendix to my brain and I do not need it to function. Now I learned that I need you to function, to live and I cannot go on without you.

But I just cannot stay and I do not know what I should do.

If I stay, I will die. If I leave, I am already dead.

All my logic is of no help to me when I can't even answer this question.

How can I survive without you?"

Silence descended and the light grew dim as night began.

Death and madness darkened grey eyes.

Life and hope lightened brown eyes.

They would both survive.

"When do we leave?"

-----

Mycroft Holmes sat in his chair, reading the newspaper and smiling slightly.

On his desk were several telegrams - they were all unimportant now.

Lestrade did not need to know where Dr. Watson was.  
Mrs. Hudson would keep the rooms as they were for as long as he wished.  
Verner was glad about his new practice.  
The ministers would get their information from Europe.

Right now Mycroft enjoyed reading the newspaper, reading about Sigerson and his companion and their travels through Europe.

Finally Mycroft put down the paper, reclined in his chair and looked through the window.

It was a beautiful day.


End file.
